


Minifill

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Shibari, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2271.html?thread=4638175#cmt4638175</p><p>The Black Widow caught in a web - humiliation, public use, objectification</p><p>Natasha caught by bad guys and hung up in shibari, with a spider gag in her mouth and her legs spread open for anyone to use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minifill

The sight sets off an avalanche behind his eyes.

Black Widow - Romanova - Natasha - dangles before him, all red and white and purple. The ropes suspending her shoulders wind tightly around her arms bound beneath her arched back -- he can see them pressing searing white into the tender red flesh, there and across her belly, up her thighs bound to her calves, her widespread knees the suspension's other anchor points. He can see how coils of rope push her sore breasts up, offering her purpled nipples to hungry tormentors. Crescent bite marks climb all the way up her collarbones and throat, one crowning her chin, her head tipped back with rope braided into and bound around her red hair, hitching it to her arms.

She seems unconscious, a gag with gleaming arched points holding her mouth open, her lips beneath it engorged crimson and laced with splits, long streams of red-threaded white running up her cheeks and gumming her eyelashes, dripping off her forehead into a pool on the floor.

There's another wide puddle, milky white and speckled red, beneath the first man he shot, the body splayed beneath her splayed thighs, penis still obscenely hard and wet even in death, upthrust like a pointer to her tenderest wound.

His feet have rooted to the concrete. Memories crash through his brain, of her beaten down to vulnerability but never surrender, of his own body wound with ropes and used like a toy, of the sheer sensation of one more penetration shoving within aching battered flesh -- the air is thin, he has to rip his ten-ton feet up to move, to stumble over the scattered bodies, to reach her.

He unstraps the gag and her brow creases. Her eyelid flickers, once, again, pulling against the matted lashes. He should reach to help her --

She pulls her eye open, rolls it dizzily, focuses on him with a visible constriction of her drug-blown pupil. "Hey," she croaks, her throat raspy, an audible bruise. "Remember me?"

His own smile feels like his face is splitting open, but it's the least he can give her as he curves his warm arm beneath her back, as he reaches with the metal to snap the first rope, as he answers, "Yes."


End file.
